Tugging at Heartstrings
by Lilbakasaru
Summary: (changed summary) Dr. John Watson was a tired man, until a faithful encounter with an 'old friend' opens up a whole new world for him, filled with danger, lust, and the man called Sherlock Holmes. Vamp!SherlockJohn AUslash
1. Prologue

Prologue

"_A white moon shines down on the forest..."_

The dull light of the moon encased the figure as he stared out into the open space of the sleeping city. The only thing visibly where his crimson eyes piercing through the darkness.

"_A whisper is heard from the branches..." _

He lifted his head high and sniffed the air taking in the familiar scent of a long lost memory. His eyes seem to shine brighter as he licked his lips, grazing his elongated canines that poked out slightly from between his lips. He smiled.

"_Among the shadows in a village of leaves..."_

The figure stared up at the full moon; he felt a breeze ruffle his silken locks. He felt so free standing here, near the park. Trees just thick enough to obscure him. It was freedom he hadn't felt in a long time, and it was only because…

"I have finally found you," he said to himself with a smirk.

And in a blink of an eye the entity was gone in a shower of dead leaves, leaving no trace of his existence behind.

"_My future love awaits..."_


	2. Perfect stranger

_Well here is the first chapter, I know that the prologue didn't give too much away but I wanted to keep it short and simple. So yes this is my first Sherlock fic, I got the idea for this as soon as I saw the first episode of BBC Sherlock. Now I've always been a fan of the books but seeing Sherlock in a new modern setting was just exciting! For a long time however I couldn't bring myself to write this fic out because I kept doubting the plot, until a very dear friend of mine convinced me that the plot was good and I should stop being such a pussy and put it up._

_So here it is my first Vampire Sherlock fic, expect drama, angst, blood, and of course plenty on vamps! It might be cheesy, yes there will be fluff (I refuse to write a fic without fluff), and even better SherlockJohn! Any side pairing will be taken into consideration._

_Hope you all enjoy!_

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Chapter 1: Perfect stranger

"Mrs. Greyson you can't eat this much sugar anymore, you're diabetic, you need to watch your diet."

The elderly woman looked slightly ashamed; a light blush stained her wrinkled cheeks. "I'm sorry Dr. Watson, but I can't seem to help myself at times," she said, her frail hands gripping her brown leather purse tightly.

Dr. John Watson looked down tiredly at Mrs. Greyson's folder, not at all liking the numbers. She was nearly 70, a bit portly with high cholesterol and a heart condition. The diabetes was just the icing on the cake, no pun intended. He ran his hand through his short sandy blonde hair and sighed. Mrs. Greyson was a long time offender when it came to her health problems; he had already recommended her to a dietitian, health programs, and of course suitable drugs. But she occasionally 'forgot' to take her medicine, and was simply too tempted by the rich food.

"Agnes, I know it's difficult but you do need to try. You know what the long term effects of your current lifestyle could do to you," he said, it was like déjà vu, he had this conversation every time, not just with poor Mrs. Greyson but all of his patients.

"I know, I know…" she said slowly before standing up.

John knew that she probably wouldn't follow his advice, but he couldn't change that about them. Instead he just gave his trademark smile and nodded towards her before leading the elderly woman out of his office. As soon as she was gone he put her folder down with the rest of his patients' files and sighed out tiredly. He was just glad that it was the end of the day and he didn't have any more people to see; all he really wanted to do was simply go home and get some hopefully dreamless sleep.

He went towards the adjoining bathroom to clean up and winced when he saw his reflection staring back at him. John hardly recognised the man in the mirror; he was only 28, but he looked so old with deep bags around his blank grey blue eyes, even his blonde hair seemed to have lost its lustre. With a frown he turned the tap to let the cool water run and washed his hands before splashing some of the cold water onto his face. He then blindly reached towards the disposable tissues to dry his face and hands before exiting the bathroom.

John packed the rest of the paperwork that he would have to do at home, and grabbed his winter coat off the hook to put on. With his messenger bag slung over his shoulder he left his office to see his colleague Dr. Sara Sawyer also leaving for the day.

She looked up and smiled when she noticed him. "Rough day, John?" she asked.

Sara was a pretty woman with deep dark brown hair that she usually had in a high ponytail, although by this time of day it was in slight disarray. Her light green eyes shone with mirth as she regarded him.

"Yes, it has been quite tough," he replied.

"Ah, I'm guessing then you don't want to go to the pub after this?"

"Na, I think I'm just gonna get home and have a kip," he replied with his own tired smile.

Sara nodded, her smile dimming slightly; she said her goodbyes and left the practice.

John couldn't help but sigh inwardly, he knew she liked him and although she was all the things he would normally look for in a girl he couldn't bring himself to ask her out, or agree on any outings she suggested. Relationships and him never really worked out, which was mostly his fault. He would go into a relationship only to realise that something was wrong or missing, then he would start distancing himself. After all it takes two to make a relationship work, and he simply wasn't participating.

Then there were the dreams.

Well calling them dreams was putting it lightly, they were more like nightmares. Visions filled with blood and screaming, and that same outline of a dark figure that he would try to call out for, only to realise that he couldn't. He would always wake up, screaming and covered in sweat. It meant that he couldn't stay overnight at a girlfriend's house, he learned that from his first partner. His nightmare had scared her so much that she broke up with him that same night. He promised himself since then that he would never stay over at a girl's house, much less let anyone stay over at his.

John Watson simply wasn't good at relationships, and by now he was more than willing to give up. Gripping his bag tightly he left the practice as well, not having to worry about locking up since the cleaners would do so. It was late autumn, nearly winter, and at only five the sky had already gotten so dark. Even if the practice was situated in the middle of London city, filled with streetlights, it was still strangely dark outside. He huddled his jacket closer to him to stave off the cold then stepped down the stairs leading out into the street filled with tired office workers.

John was half-tempted to simply take the tube, but he really wanted to avoid further crowds, and maybe he could even cut through the park. He snorted out in derision, not believing how happy he sounded at the idea of cutting through the park, as if it was some sort of day-trip. Maybe he really needed a night out. Just some sort of distraction. Maybe some tea?

Yeah, tea sounded very good right now, especially in this cold weather. He knew the nearest direction of the closest coffee shop and stepped inside, a frown on his face when he realised how crowded the shop was as well, with a queue that seemed to go on forever. Grumbling under his breath he joined the line, already tired and weary, with the messenger bag hurting his shoulder. The line was abysmally slow, and he was starting to regret this idea; he could probably have made a cup at home… but then he would have to go to the shop and also buy some milk, and he really didn't want to walk any more than necessary.

He always had a thing with his leg, like an electric burn that ran through his right knee, a condition that got worse during cold weather. He didn't know why, but he's had it for as long as he could remember, always blaming the injury on his Rugby days. The queue moved slowly, and standing up for this long was starting to affect his leg; he looked around the side to see how much further he had to go when his eyes zeroed in on a person standing near the front. He couldn't really make out much from the man except that he was tall, had black hair and a long dark grey coat.

John didn't know why he was staring, there wasn't anything significant about the way the man looked. Then something about the man's demeanour seemed to change, it was almost as if he knew that he was being watched, since he slowly turned his head to look directly at him. His eyes shining this eerie blue-green.

Something froze inside John at that moment, he was transfixed by those eyes that were still trained on him. There was something quite predatory about those eyes, something that he couldn't quite place; they didn't scare him, just were very intriguing. He could feel his cheeks heating up, and he didn't think it was because of the warmth of the coffee shop. But just like the connection had been set up it was already broken, leaving John feeling very confused and embarrassed.

The blonde looked away, and he quickly tried to act busy, searching through his pockets until he found his phone. Quickly he checked the time, and any new messages he had missed during office hours; two from his sister Harriet, or Harry as she was called, probably asking if he was coming to Sunday lunch. He would probably say no again, he didn't enjoy visiting his older sister. Every time he did they would end up fighting, and didn't need to deal with that. When he looked up he noticed that the dark-haired man had gone, probably gotten his drink, and left. Lucky him.

John sighed again in disappointment, it seemed like all he was doing today was sighing, but today really wasn't his day, and this bloody line had barely moved forward. Nearly ten minutes had passed and he was more than willing to just go home and sleep. When another five slow minutes passed and he still hadn't moved much further he huffed under his breath and got ready to leave when someone tapped on his shoulder. He turned around to see a man about the same height as him with wide dark, almost black eyes, and short neatly cut black hair. He had an unnaturally wide smile as he regarded John, it was probably meant to look pleasant but it only made him feel uncomfortable.

"Er, yes?"

For a second it looked like his dark eyes flashed silver in colour. "John right, John Watson?" John just mindlessly nodded back, the stranger's smile grew. "Remember me? It's Jim!" he exclaimed and spread his arms out as if coming in for a hug, which John accepted trying not to show his uneasiness.

"Erm… I'm sorry, I'm not…"

Instantly he was released from the hug then looked at him with a frown, the smile slipping slightly before coming back full force. "It's Jim, Jim Moriarty?" he repeated. "We went to St. Bartholomew's together, don't you remember?" again there was something about his eyes, just for a second they looked like molten mercury before turning back to black. Maybe it was just the lighting in the room.

"Jim?" John tried to remember, but the name didn't sound very familiar. Then again it had been a long time ago, probably plenty of people he had met at one time or another and simply didn't remember their name.

So he decided to play along, better than hurting this guy's feelings. "Of course Jim, I remember. How have you been?" he asked.

"Good, pretty good, and you?"

"I'm doing well-"

"You waiting to buy something to drink, eh?"

John paused, slightly overwhelmed at the sudden onslaught of questions. "I was going to, but I decided to go home instead," he replied.

"Oh, well do you want mine? I bought two," he said. Showing the two big Styrofoam cups he was holding in his hands.

"Why do you have two?" something about this didn't feel right, he was sure that he didn't know the man, but there was this slight niggling at the back of his head that kept telling him he knew this guy.

"Well I had a late lunch date that didn't show up," he said quickly. "It's tea, two sugars, and we can catch up."

John wasn't even sure why he agreed, next thing he knew was that they walked out of the coffee shop, drinking tea. The warm liquid flowed happily down his throat, and the unease he had been feeling slowly washing away. Jim continued to talk, his soft Irish brogue having an almost calming effect on him. He was shooting off questions that the blonde barely had a chance to answer before he started talking again. John couldn't help but chuckle, not believing how harmless and goofy this man was, but it still bothered him that he couldn't remember him. Once again John brushed away that feeling.

They had been walking and talking for so long that John didn't even realise that they were in a pretty bad part of town. This was mostly an industrial area although half the factories were more or less out of commission, heavy graffiti painting the walls, trash strewn all over the place, but other than that it was pretty empty. This area was definitely not a place he would normally even step into, this area was dangerous. He was about to say the very same thing to Jim only to notice that the chatty man had suddenly stopped talking, and was now just simply staring at him.

That unnerving smile still in place.

"Jim?"

"Johny, Johny, Johny," he said with a sing-song voice that he found very strange.

There was that uneasy feeling again that spread through his mind, "Jim, why are we here?" he asked. "We probably shouldn't stay here, this place is dangerous."

"It sure is, Johny-boy," but for some reason Jim didn't seem to be listening to him. He just continued to walk ahead while John just watched him.

"Jim…?"

"You know, Johny-boy, I had been looking for you for a long time now, it was pure luck that I found you in that coffee shop."

"Really, you had been? I didn't really think many would remember me from St. Bartholomew's, I didn't exactly stand out," when he was training there he had never been one of the popular guys, he was well liked but he simply wasn't the type to draw attention to himself. So he was surprised that Jim remembered him from so long ago, but going so far as to search for him, that seemed unreal.

He stopped walking, his back still turned to the blonde. "Of course I did John, you are special after all," he said.

John arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Special?" he repeated.

Then he slowly turned to regard the blonde, his eyes shining that same molten silver. John took a step back; he was sure this time that he wasn't seeing things. Those wide silver eyes were staring at him unblinkingly, the mirthful look about them not going unnoticed. John couldn't help but take a step back, something that the other man noticed and the smile on his face grew. He took a step towards john, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

"Of course, soo~ special! The apple of his eye, the precious jewel he would guard with his life, in fact you're probably his very heart," he said, skipping from one foot to the other.

"What are you talking about, Jim?" he finally brought himself to ask, but the other man didn't seem to be listening at all.

If John wasn't completely freaked out before, he was now. The way Jim was acting was almost manic, like some of his more mentally deprived patients. It was completely different from the chatty man he had seen before, and then those eyes… those eyes. So bright, like the moon, yet indescribably… evil. John was starting to think that maybe this Jim fellow wasn't who he told he was. In fact John was pretty sure that he had never met a guy like Jim Moriarty before in his life, and if he did he probably would never have associated with him, because right now this man was scaring him.

It was obvious the man had some sort of a grudge against him, but he couldn't figure out what he could have done to wrong the man. All he knew was that he needed to get out.

When John took another step back but stopped a guttural growl met his ears. Slowly he turned his head to the side only to see a pair of glowing eyes staring back at him; he gasped and stumbled but caught himself before he fell. He stared from those eyes back to Jim, realising that the other man didn't seem scared at all.

"He tried his best this time of course, tried to keep away from you. But he couldn't do it for long, the need to be near you just so he could see you… his mistake of course."

The growling got louder, and out of the shadows those red eyes grew larger and he could finally make out a shape. A dog-like snout that hardly hid those sharp teeth dripping with drool, thick almost silvery fur covered a strong body of what John could only describe of a gigantic wolf. Yet there was something different about this 'wolf', instead of paws they were hands, thick and fury just like the rest of its body, with sharp two-inch long talon-like claws. It growled at him, snapping its vicious maw at him. John flinched and took a step back, which only made Jim chuckle.

"You made him so 'human', John…" his smile turned into an angry sneer. "Turned him into such a weak creature!" he snapped loudly.

"I don't-"

"OF COURSE YOU WOULDN'T!" he shouted, his voice unnaturally loud, it seemed to echo in his very mind. He had his head bowed, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed anger.

"Of course you wouldn't," he repeated, this time in a quieter tone. "You never, ever did. You simply went through the motions like some mindless fool. Going through the same endless cycle over and over again… but I'll put a stop to it now. This time it will truly be your end…" he said and snapped his fingers, and that beast pounced at him.

John broke out of his reverie; he acted quickly, twisting to the side, and using his messenger bag to act as a shield between him and those razor-sharp teeth. He used the bag to throw the creature off him and then started running the opposite direction than where the fallen beast was.

Jim watched the blonde man run; he licked his lips just enough to show off his elongated canines, he hadn't had fun like this in a long time. He turned towards the wolf who was standing there waiting for his next order. Slowly he went towards it, running his hands through its thick fur in an almost gentle manner.

"Go on then, have yourself a little snack my dear," he said.

The wolf-like creature growled again and ran in the same direction the man had disappeared to.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

John didn't think he had ever run this much since he was a teenager, the phantom pain in his leg acting up worse than before. His muscles burned from the strain; he felt like he wasn't getting enough air into his lungs. But he had to keep running, the growling sounds were getting louder to the point of filling his ears with nothing but its echoes. He had to find somewhere to hide, a building or a shop, just somewhere he could hole up and call for help; but it was late and most of the shops were closed or abandoned.

He took a side street, running nearly into an iron wrought gate. It was big and wide with jagged tips, and just behind an abandoned factory. John ran inside, closing the gate behind him and locking it before running towards the abandoned building. This was probably a bad idea, he would be a sitting duck in here, but he knew he couldn't run any further than this. His muscles cramping up to a painful point, his heart in his mouth. He stumbled through the crowded building, tripping over trash and broken pipes. He looked down and saw a rusty ron rod and picked it up, grasping it firmly in his hands to use as a weapon.

The doctor looked around the jumbled inside, trying to find the smallest most obscure place to hide; he grabbed a couple of barrels and used them to help obscure him. Then he noticed one particular barrel filled with something obnoxious smelling, and tipped the barrel over emptying the contents out. John gagged at the smell; he covered his nose, trying his best not to heave. He moved quickly to sit down behind his barrel wall, his back slamming down hard against the concrete wall. John sat there and waited, trying his best to control his breathing; right now the simple act of breathing seemed as loud as a blow horn.

There was a loud crashing sound as the beast slammed into the iron gates; a howl pierced through the sky and John couldn't help but wince. He quickly covered his mouth to stop himself from screaming, he closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn't be found. The crashes got louder and more frequent, each bang making him jump in his seat, until there was a sudden sound like an explosion as the gates finally gave way and the beast was inside the grounds.

The blonde could hear it snuffing around probably following his scent; maybe the smell from the disgusting waste was enough to put the creature off. He could hear it, the scraping sounds of its talons scratching against concrete getting closer with one of its steps. The growling got louder; it was sniffing the air, and then made some sort of hacking sound as it obviously got a noseful of that foul stench. The growling turned into an angry snarl and John couldn't help but scramble back in fear, his knee hitting a pile of cans toppling them over. They clattered on the hard ground loudly, and John cursed under his breath; he realised then that he had been found.

Through the gap between the barrels he saw the wolf turn its head, its red eyes fixed onto his position. He grasped the rusty iron rod tightly, the deep grooves digging into the palms of his hands almost painfully. The wolf came towards him, side-stepping the spilled liquid and prowling slowly towards him, its chops dripping wet with saliva. It stood on its hind legs, using its massive hands to smash the empty barrels to the side like they were made out of paper. He winced, covering his head as the metal went flying over him, but John knew he couldn't just stay there and let himself be eaten.

He grabbed the rod using it to whack away an oncoming hand; he jumped over the snapping mouth, trying to get behind the beast but the wolf was too quick. The blonde tried to hit him again, but it moved swiftly, a clawed hand raised to catch the iron rod and ripping it out of his hands and twisting it like it was made out of straw. He screamed and jumped back when those claws made to swipe at him again, only to get his leg caught on something and fell down hard on the ground. He coughed violently as the air was knocked out of him; he gasped for air and squinted at the hairy beast standing just a few feet away from him.

This was it then, he couldn't run anymore, he had lost his only weapon, not that he thought he could have damaged him, not with the way the creature had disposed of the iron rod. The wolf raised its clawed hand high ready to pull its finishing blow, and John closed his eyes not wanting to see it happen.

But it never came.

Instead there was this painful yowling sound like a broken squeaky toy that was squeezed. He opened his blue eyes and was surprised to see the wolf beast being pushed into the ground by a tall dark man. Who was punching and swiping at the downed wolf like a wild animal. John wasn't even sure what he was seeing, but it was definitely a man having a fight and winning against the monster. Slowly the blonde sat up, just staring in awe at the sight; his body was still not able to move, even though every fibre of his being was telling him to run.

The dark-haired man grabbed the creature by the neck, viciously hissing at it as he squeezed its neck with his left hand. Then the pale man reached up with his right hands, and as fast as lightning he swiped at its neck tearing its throat out. The wolf gave a gurgled gasp as it struggled to breathe, its body twitching and writhing as rivers of blood poured from its mouth and mutilated throat, and then it just stopped.

John's blue eyes hadn't left the sight; he watched the man as he breathed in heavily from exhaustion and simply dropped the now dead creature to the ground before turning to regard the blonde with blazing red eyes. Like rubies in the moonlight.

Slowly he stepped towards the fallen doctor and carefully leaned down next to him. John wasn't sure what was going on; he shuddered when he felt a long finger slowly trail down his cheek. He could feel his vision blurring as he continued to stare deeper into those deep blood-red eyes. It was as if all the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins before was now drained out, but even through the fog that was penetrating his mind he could still make out that handsome face.

High cheekbones chiseled to perfection, milky pale skin, and raven black hair, but even with all this beauty, John could see the sadness in the man's face. He tried to say something, but it was as if his body couldn't move, his eyelids getting heavier; it was getting more difficult to keep them open.

"_Sleep, my precious, sleep…"_ came a whispering voice, so soft and calming that John latched onto it.

And he slept.

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_So what do you think? Review and join the dark side we have cookies!_


	3. Mr Holmes

_Hello everyone I know that it has been a long time since I've updated this fic. Sorry, I'm so sorry, I know I'm just terrible. I just had a real difficult time trying to get Sherlock and his language right. Not to mention I went through the whole struggle of how much I should give away about the plot so early in the fic. Couldn't have the whole plot unraveling so quickly. Then I got distracted by my other fic's, next thing I know its Christmas I had to go home, and then managed to get a cold from one of my grubby cousins. _

_But yes here is the next part, and I hope that I haven't lost too many readers with my negligence. Hope you all enjoy!_

_Beta read by the lovely Kuro Maru!_

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Chapter 2: Mr. Holmes

John gasped awake, his breathing came out ragged and short, almost painful to the point that he couldn't breathe. He tried to calm himself down, shutting his eyes and hunching over in an attempt to calm his breathing. He slowly counted backwards from 10 to1, until his heart-rate slowed down and he could think normally. He realized almost instantly then that he wasn't in his own bed; his bed was a single while this was definitely a king. In fact he wasn't even in his own room.

The walls were stark white in colour, with lush red drapes that hug off the bed post canopy. While in his own bedroom he had a thick soft blanket that was plain powder blue, this bed had red satin sheets, to match the drapes, that felt strangely comfortable. Next to the bed was a small antique table where his phone, wallet and keys were. Quickly he scrambled towards it and picked his phone up, lifting it to check the time; 6 a.m., still early. Somehow having a possession that was his made him feel better, but he still needed to know where he was.

His head hurt; there was a pressure at the back of his eyes, all the signs telling him that he was going to have a killer migraine soon.

With some effort he got out of bed; a burning pain shot down his leg and he almost fell down, but caught himself by the dresser. He looked down on himself only to realize then that he was standing there in nothing but his red briefs. Where the hell were his clothes?! He looked around the room and found nothing. In fact except for the bed and the dresser the whole room was empty.

Just then the door opened up, and John jumped, grabbing the sheets off his bed to cover himself with. When he looked back up he saw a tall older man with dark brown hair that was effectively styled and slicked with a side parting. He was average looking with a distinguishing nose and rounded chin; but what surprised John most was how dark blue his eyes were, almost black.

The man simply gave him a disinterested look. "Good to see you awake Dr. Watson," the stranger simply said, his accent highly upper class. "We had been quite worried at for a while."

"Er… where…"

"You're in my home currently, I'm Mycroft Holmes," he said with a flourish before tipping his head forward in a slight bow.

"Mr. Holmes," he greeted, before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I don't really… how did I get here?"

"My brother found you, it seems you were mugged and got hit pretty bad, but he got to you before they could actually do anything and scared them away. Then he brought you here."

"Oh," he said, running his hand through his short blonde hair, trying to think back to last night. John couldn't remember getting attacked, but with how worn his body felt, muscles aching with strain, as if he had run a marathon… it could be possible. He winced when he felt another painful throb going through the side of his skull.

Mycroft gave a slight frown. "Headache?"

"Yes."

"Then come, some food and an aspirin will make you feel better," he said and was about to turn around but stopped. "Although you will need something to wear, your clothes got dirty and we had to wash them," he finished and left the room.

Well that answered the question of where his clothes had disappeared too. The brunette soon came back with a fluffy white bathrobe and handed it to him. John quickly took it off him and after making sure that the man wasn't looking he dropped the sheets and put the robe on. The blonde made sure that the robe was secure before they both left the bedroom and went down hallway, which was lined with doors, towards the living room.

The room was big and a mix of modern and antique furniture. A large black couch dominated the front room, with a smaller more ornate brown patterned Victorian armchair next to it. The walls were a light beige green in colour with a white trim and wide windows that overlooked a small garden, underneath it a potted plant. There was a faded old globe in the corner of the room, next to a large bookshelf that dominated the whole wall. A Persian rug covered the wooden floor. John also saw right at the end of the room two large glass doors that probably led out to the balcony, and a well-stocked drinks cabinet. No TV, he noticed.

Actually looking around there weren't any personal items at all, even if the room was filled it didn't feel very intimate. Rather more like a showroom, as if everything was meticulously staged. It didn't feel lived in at all, but homely at the same time; John didn't know how that could even be managed.

"Please follow me Dr. Watson, the dining area is here. My attendant already has breakfast ready for you."

John didn't really know what to say to that; he followed the older man through a side door towards what he guessed was the kitchen. The room was empty, but on a plate was a full English breakfast: eggs sunny-side up, bacon, sausages, hash brown, with a side of fried tomato and baked beans, just waiting for him on the breakfast isle. A glass of water and an aspirin right next to the food. His mouth was watering. But he stopped himself from simply tackling the food and looked around the stylish kitchen, although someone had just cooked breakfast it didn't look like anyone had actually made the food here. Just the like the living room this area was clean and stylish with all modern conveniences, yet had this rustic feel to it.

Carved wooden panels, a supersize stainless steel fridge, a set of three hanging spotlights that hung from the middle of the ceiling, and were bright enough to illuminate the whole room. John looked towards Mycroft only just noticing how uncomfortable the man looked. He didn't look at all the type who would ever be seen in a kitchen but it was obvious that the man wanted to keep an eye on him. Maybe to make sure that he didn't collapse again.

"You can start now Dr. Watson, my brother should be back soon; he said that you would like to drink some tea."

That he would. John nodded and sat down, making sure that his gown was put on securely before picking up the knife and fork. Just then there was the loud sound of the front door banging open causing the blonde to jump in his seat. A set of footsteps came towards them; the blonde turned and suddenly the kitchen door was thrown open and a tall man with a long dark coat was standing there, with a Tesco's shopping bag in hand. Mycroft stared at the other man, arching an eyebrow before sighing out in exasperation.

"Really Sherlock, there's no need to bustle around like this," the brunette said. "If you break another door I won't let you off that easily."

The dark-haired man rolled his light blue eyes before his gaze dropped towards the stunned blonde. Something seemed to switch inside of John and he gasped out in recognition.

"You're the man from the coffee shop!" he said.

It was definitely him, with the same dark almost black wavy hair that crowned his pale handsome face. A straight thin nose and high cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut. Then there were those eyes: a startling cold blue, almost like ice, with a light hue of greed surrounding it, and strangely emotionless.

"Coffee shop, Sherlock?" Mycroft said, startling him out of his musing.

The man named Sherlock turned to him with an equally pinched look. "Is there something wrong with that, Mycroft?" the brunette gave him a hard look before turning away to leave the room, and the two, alone.

John felt awkward sitting there in a bathrobe, not knowing what to do about this new person standing before him. He watched as the other man sighed, undoing the buttons of his long coat and putting the bag down on the counter taking its contents out; a bottle of milk, sugar, and tea bags.

"Right then, where does Mycroft keep the cups…" he muttered under his breath, opening shelves and rifling through them until he found what he was looking for.

The blonde watched as Sherlock went through the kitchen as if he had never been in this room before. Throwing things open in frustration, the way his eyes lit up as he finally found something as simple as a spoon. John could see that he was struggling; when he boiled the kettle he seemed unsure how to use it. Adding too much water, and too little milk, not giving the tea bags enough time to mix in with the hot liquid. Sherlock handed one of the cups to John who reluctantly took it, taking a sip.

He winced at the bitter taste; it tasted more like water than actual tea. Sherlock took a sip of his own and his face morphed into the most disgusted visage. He looked down at his cup as if someone pissed in it and John couldn't help but chuckle.

"Let me…" he said, taking the cup off him and then he threw his and Sherlock's horrible tea down the sink, and started remaking it.

He tried not to feel too self-conscious as he felt the other man's gaze trained on his back. Instead John tried to focus on his task, working meticulously, performing a task that he had done many times before. When he was done he turned around and handed the newly made tea and handed it to him, long fingers reached out, fingers brushing against his own that nearly caused John to drop the cup. He waited expectantly as Sherlock regarded the warm liquid and took a sip, and suddenly his features seemed to relax, and John could swear that he was smiling behind his cup.

He turned away and drank his own, hoping that the other had not noticed his blush.

"So… your brother said that you saved me?" John said, trying to make conversation.

"I was just there at the right time," he replied, turning away from him.

John felt that he should say something, anything before the man left the kitchen. "Thank you!" he finally said, although it came out more like a stutter, which left him feeling terribly embarrassed.

Sherlock paused at the threshold; he turned slightly to regard the blonde. They stared at each other for a while before he turned around again.

"You should eat before it gets cold," he said and then left.

John just watched the door close behind the man, a part of him feeling completely lost.

Not wanting to delve into it any further he sat down on the stool and started eating, but he really wasn't focusing on the food. Instead he tried to think back to the night before, which was a complete blur to him. John was sure that he hadn't hit his head that bad that he managed to actually lose his memory. He tried to track back to the day; it was late, cold, he wanted some tea, then he saw the man. This Sherlock Holmes as he had now found out, then his train of thought simply stopped, and his mind was simply filled with Sherlock.

John wasn't even sure why this was, it wasn't as if he knew the enigmatic man. It was just… that there was something familiar about him, as if knew him from a long time ago; but John simply could not place him. It wasn't as if Sherlock had an average face or anything like that, because John was sure he would never forget a face like that, much less such an unusual name.

The blonde shook his head and tried finishing his cold sausages, dipping them in baked beans, when a nagging thought made him frown. He gasped, letting the fork drop down with a clatter, his messenger bag! What had happened to his bag?! He was sure it wasn't in the room he had been sleeping. John pushed the half-eaten plate away from him and went towards the door and opened it only to be met by two men glaring at each other.

They turned towards him, their faces going instantly blank of all emotions.

"Is something wrong, John?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm sorry, it's just that when you found me, did you by any chance also see a brown messenger bag?" he asked frantically.

Sherlock frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sorry, I didn't."

John cursed under his breath, he couldn't believe it! Maybe if he went back to the scene he might find the bag, then again the mugger might have taken it with him. He sighed out tiredly; now he would have to get into work early and redo them, the only good thing was that none of the paperwork was of a sensitive nature, but that only gave John a slight reprieve. He looked up to meet the worried gaze of Sherlock. He really hated asking people for more help, especially these men who had already done a lot for him.

"I'm sorry, I need to get into work; is there any chance you could call a taxi for me?"

"It isn't a problem, I'll drive you," Sherlock simply answered.

"Really? Thank you but-"

"It is fine, go get dressed."

John wanted to protest, but he didn't want to waste any more time arguing, and hey he could save a few quid on a taxi. So he hurried towards his room where he found his clothes were already laid out for him, cleaned and ironed. Quickly he dressed himself, putting on his coat and pocketing his wallet, keys and phone, before meeting a bundled-up Sherlock by the front door. The man nodded at him and they stepped out of the house. It was only when they stepped out of the building that John realized what an expensive part of London they were in. Central London, Belgravia to be exact. You'd have to be a millionaire to live here.

Suddenly a sleek black car pulled up and Sherlock opened a door to let him in. John was at first confused; he thought that the other man would drive him, and not get someone else to do it. So he was surprised when the dark-haired man also got inside the car with him, but Sherlock didn't say anything but instead turned to the driver.

"17 Harley street," he told him.

John turned to him in surprise. "How did you know where I worked?" he asked.

Sherlock glanced at him. "I checked your wallet when I first brought you in, your work ID was the first thing I saw," he explained himself.

"Oh…" that made sense, but there were only so many coincidences that John could take though.

They drove in silence, with the blonde occasionally throwing the other man furtive glances. Trying to find a way to fill the silence. "So Mr. Holmes-"

He seemed to wince as if he was suddenly burned. "Please call me Sherlock, my brother is Mr. Holmes… or just fat-arse also works fine."

John couldn't help but snort at the joke, which also put the other man at ease. "Alright then Sherlock, what do you do?"

"As an occupation?"

"Of course," he replied with a nod.

"I work as a consulting detective," Sherlock answered. "It is a title I gave to myself; I work mainly with the police."

The blonde was taken aback by that answer; he had never heard of such a job before in his life. What was a consulting detective anyway? Being a doctor John met all kinds of people with different jobs, but this was the first time he had met someone who called himself a consulting detective. It reminded John of those types of jobs children made up when they played games- like space-cowboy.

But he decided to humour the man. "I didn't think the police worked with amateurs?"

Sherlock snorted. "That's because I'm not an amateur," he answered, his voice full of confidence.

The blonde couldn't help but find his attitude oddly charming and familiar; he couldn't but help but feel comfortable around the other man's presence. He snuggled into the warm leather seat and gave the raven an inquisitive smile.

"So what do you do as a consulting detective?" he asked.

"The usual stuff y'know, helping out incompetent officers do their job, solve murders and the likes with the science of deduction," he said nonchalantly.

"'Science of Deduction'?" John couldn't help but ask, he had never heard a phrase like that before.

"Yes, I deduce things through basic observation."

The smaller man arched an eyebrow as he gave the dark-haired man a disbelieving look. "Like what?"

Sherlock gave him a penetrative look, his eyes shining oddly bright with intelligence as he raked over him. "I know for one that you're a doctor, a GP to be exact-"

"Well you could have gotten that from my work ID-"

"You have been working at the clinic as soon as you got out of university, although you did attend military school when you were younger but never continued. You have an older brother that you don't keep in touch with, well he tries but you make up excuses not to meet him, probably because of his alcoholism. There's a slight limp in your walk, hardly noticeable under normal circumstances but the cold exasperates the pain, you think it's a sports injury, you used to play rugby when you were younger. I however think it's something else. Currently you're single, not because you don't want a relationship but because you feel like you can't keep them, something psychological? Nightmares maybe?"

Then he leaned close, and John thought he had stopped breathing. His smile had long left him as Sherlock summarized his short life so quickly. There was an unexplainable unease growing in the pit of his stomach, but he still didn't move or voice any sort of protest. No, it was more like he couldn't voice it.

His voice was hypnotically low, and he slowly continued. "What do you dream of, John? What has you looking so haunted and tired? Screaming into the night so much that you're left breathless?"

John wanted to protest, but for some reason it was as if his brain wasn't reacting. He was just staring back, shocked, baffled, stunned… yet not scared. Even though that should be the main emotion running through him, he should be terrified of this man who had so easily read him; as if he was an open book. But he wasn't. Especially when he saw those blue-green eyes, so intelligent and bright, yet an underlying sadness that John felt should be significant.

Suddenly Sherlock looked away and whatever spell they were under was broken, and John felt like he could breathe again.

"We are here," he said.

John looked from Sherlock to the window and saw that they had actually arrived, how long had he been sitting there staring at the other man? With shaking fingers the blonde pulled the handle to open the door and stepped out; he paused and turned back to the dark-haired man. Not really knowing what to say to the other.

"Goodbye Sherlock… and thank you again."

Sherlock didn't reply; John closed the door, and then watched the car drive away, leaving the blonde feeling as if he had just missed something vital. He tried to shake that feeling off as he walked inside the clinic, and concentrate on work instead of the mystery surrounding Sherlock Holmes.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

When he got home Sherlock knew that his brother wasn't happy, it was easy enough to tell when he saw the man sitting on the couch with his back to him. It was very subtle, no one would probably have notice unless they were, well… him. He knew Mycroft after all. Sherlock also knew of the lecture he was going to get later for this, so instead of stalling he simply went towards his appointed armchair and fell into it uncaringly. His gaze still firmly trained onto his brother who was going over some random paperwork.

Time passed until his patience finally ran out; he didn't like waiting very much.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he said, turning the page he was reading over.

Sherlock couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. "No lecture this time?"

Mycroft sighed and finally looked up to meet his brother's gaze. "Oh I have plenty to say, but I know that you won't take any of that into account. So I see no point in wasting my breath." Then he went back to his paperwork.

The raven rolled his eyes; and Mycroft always said that he had a flair for the dramatics. "It's not as if I don't listen…"

"Really…" his brother said lowly, a hit of a growl in his voice. "Then what in god's name were you doing at a bloody coffee shop?!" he turned towards him, his dark blue eyes flashing a bloody red.

"Only because your so-called 'protection' wasn't up to the job."

"It would have been if you hadn't led them straight to him," he growled lowly.

This had Sherlock silent and Mycroft took a few minutes to relish the fact that he had once again gotten the better of his little brother. Although this was no laughing matter. It was very serious. He gathered up all of his papers, needing to think about this whole situation better. With a heavy sigh he stood up and went in the direction of his office.

Sherlock gave the back of his brother an angry look; he didn't want to move past this, he had gone through this many times over and wanted it to finally end. Finish the claim before he lost John again. Quickly he stood up from his own chair and followed Mycroft inside his office, slamming the door behind him.

"I can't let him go!" he shouted at the man sitting behind his desk.

"Sherlock we discussed this…"

"No!"

His brother slammed his hands against his large mahogany desk. "You know how badly you relapse when he leaves again."

"Then you also know how much better I am when he's with me," Sherlock replied seriously.

Mycroft went silent; he slowly walked around the desk, coming to a stop in front of his younger brother. His dark blue eyes filled with sadness as he looked the pale man over. He reached a hand out and rested it on Sherlock's shoulder, ignoring the wince of the other man. Sherlock never enjoyed the touch of another person.

"Sherlock, he will die…"

The raven shook his head, not wanting to hear any more but Mycroft was not letting him go.

"You have to listen, it happens every time… you meet, you fall in love, you bond, then he dies, and you're left with nothing, once again losing yourself to those opiates, starving yourself, and the senseless violence. It doesn't stop, the cycle never ends… at least this time if you don't meet him you might actually be spared the pain for once."

Sherlock growled and smacked the hand off his shoulder. "Maybe I don't want to be spared the pain…" he growled.

"Sherlock-"

"Stop Mycroft, I kept my distance for this long simply watching him through all these years, watching him die… I can't do that again."

"You tried everything, remember? It never ended well. I simply don't understand what your need is going through this fatalistic endeavor over and over again. 400 years Sherlock, you've been through this so many times, at least your precious 'John' is left with no memory, while you can never forget what happens-"

Sherlock knew exactly where his brother was going with this, when John was gone he wasn't at his best and Mycroft was the one who had to deal with him, stop him from going over the edge. But he didn't want to hear that. "Just stop it, I make my own decisions!" he shouted and stormed out of his office.

The brunette sighed, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle. He had after all tried for over 400 years, and knew that he could never change him. So he didn't follow after his brother; instead he turned around feeling disappointed, not that Sherlock cared. He needed to figure out a few things, first of all being how to finally take care of Moriarty. The man was the main reason it always ended in tragedy. That man's infatuation with his younger brother was manic, wild, with no real reason behind the obsession.

So Mycroft went back to his desk, knowing once again he would have to keep a vigilant watch from the shadows, and hope that this time it wouldn't all end up in tears again.

* * *

_That's the second chapter done! Hope you all enjoyed!_

_Now review and join the dark side we have cookies!_


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